Wild Wild West The Night Cassandra Clemmons Came to Town

**Author's Note: **Hi all! As summer is here, I am happily returning to fanfic land! I'll finally get to read all the new stories, but first I thought I'd celebrate with a story of my own. The story is an experiment, and I _know_ it is goofy and bizarre (but then the TV series is too). I tried to make it a little different from my usual fare. And, as a personal note, I'm identifying with the coughing! Oh, and for some odd reason the fanfic spell checker keeps flagging words like "with" and such (I have no idea why), so spelling might be a little off. Hope you all enjoy, and please review!

**Disclaimer: **The culture used in this story has nothing to do with any other culture on Earth. It is based off of western town mining town culture, which states that if you want to live, you kill at least one person per day for no particular reason. And, of course, I don't own the Wild Wild West or it's characters or the train.

**The Night Cassandra Clemmons Came to Town**

It was James West's worst nightmare, the events of July 20th. It was _his_ worst nightmare, but it must be said that even to this day the remembrance brings a smirk to Artemus Gordon's face. If Jim had known the future, he definitely wouldn't have gone out that fateful evening. Of course, when Jim rationalized the entire event out, he blamed most of it on Artie, because it was Artie's fault that they were out in the dry southern California desert. Artie would argue that it wasn't his fault he had coughed and coughed for nearly five months; the wet dripping spring in the east taking a toll on bronchitis ridden lungs. Dryer weather was needed for a complete recovery, as well as vacation time.

Jim and Artie were renowned at taking vacations that were not vacations. Almost every time they left for a furlough, they were either called back into the line of duty or were coincidentally in the right place at the right time to capture a criminal. Exasperated, Colonel Richmond kept assigning the agents leave, only to have them work through it again. Thus, Jim and Artie lived in a state of permanent vacation.

It wouldn't have been such a bad vacation if it had actually been a vacation. Alas, this was a "vacation" like all the rest. It resulted with Jim "dead," and Artie getting shot more times than he had during the Civil War. But word of the strange events of those few days never did reach the Colonel's ears; Jim and Artie had sworn each other to secrecy. Jim swore for the sake of his own dignity, and Artie for the sake of his friend. It was worth the secret, Artie personally thought, if it would teach James West a lesson.

When you have a cough that lasts nearly half a year, you learn that no matter how hard you try and fit into society, it will never really work. Case in point, you start coughing in church and have everyone turn and stare at you. You start coughing at a restaurant and everyone wonders if you are going to die from choking. You start coughing when you are trying to hide from bad guys, and they catch you and hang you over a vat of boiling acid. Worst of all were the dates. You try to be convincingly suave and romantic on a date, and you sound like you are going to die from tuberculosis. No one wants to marry a person who sounds like they are going to drop dead next week, even if that person is perfectly healthy. What made matters worse, though, was Jim's persistence in dating.

It was no secret that Jim was a womanizer. Woman after woman he courted, having delightful romantic dinners and calm conversation on balmy spring nights. "Meanwhile," Artie grumbled to himself, "I stay hidden here, coughing my lungs out. It wouldn't be too terrible to bear, except he flaunts every girl he meets before me and I only get to smile at Nurse Griselda, who visits from time to time."

As the train surged forward to the warm, dry climate of Southern California, Artie sat at his lab bench and growled. Why should this trip be any different? Jim would go out happily every evening, while Artie would stay in resting and wishing that the winter storms hadn't permanently taken up residence within his lungs. "Oh well," Artie thought dryly, "There are worse situations to be in. I just wish that for one time, I could get the girl and leave Jim standing in the dust. Someone has to teach him a lesson."

Despite his inward grumblings, though, Artie was extremely good-natured, and as the train crossed the California border, he began to look forward to a week of nothing but rest and relaxation. That night, he and Jim sat in the parlor car, eating dinner and excitedly making plans.

"We stop first in the town of Paradise," Jim grinned, eying the map. "I hear it's a great place to go mining in. There are canyons everywhere in the region, filled with pinion pine, and the town itself is situated on a silver mine!"

Artie blinked at Jim's excited rambling; Jim had gotten a spell of gold fever recently, and had been eying mining tools in the stores with eager eyes.

"Now, don't you go running off on me," Artie said warily. "Remember, we only have two weeks of vacation time, and we've got lots of California to see. Lets not spend it all in a mine."

Jim shook his head good-naturedly. "You've got nothing to worry about, Artie, as you aren't going to be setting foot in any mines. We're here to cure your cough, and being in a mine would only make it worse."

Artie grinned a little at Jim's reply, but inside he felt terrible. He remembered what Colonel Richmond had said to him before they left for sunny California. Despite the polite and sincerely friendly words, the main gist of the conversation was, "get better, or you'll be pulled off of field work to be put on a desk job." Artie knew that his coughing had endangered himself and Jim more than once, but he had always expected the cough would go away, not linger like some dying duck.

The next morning, Jim and Artie saddled Blackjack and Mesa and started out for Paradise. The town was a good twenty miles into the high desert. Jim and Artie would have had their pick of the low desert towns by train, but the high desert was said to have the best air in the world. So, there was nothing left to do but take a day's ride into the hills, Artie coughing all the way. Jim flinched as he heard the gut-wrenching hacking grabbing a hold of his friend every twenty minutes like clockwork. He had never experienced anything like this before, and it worried him. That winter had been terrible, with the constant threat of pnemonia for Artie every time he stepped out into the snow. Only when the weather got warm did Artie finally begin to relax. Now, in all honesty, Artie was perfectly healthy. Nothing was in his lungs anymore, but why did he continue to cough? Jim shrugged the worry away; it was no use worrying about something he couldn't control.

"_Artie just needs rest, Colonel," Jim's mind flashed to the conversation he had had with Colonel Richmond just before departing. "I don't know any better way of fighting off sickness, and you have to admit, the White House has been running us pretty ragged lately."_

"_Jim," Colonel Richmond had replied, "You know what happens when you get a mild case of bronchitis mixed with whooping cough? You get a residual cough, long after the disease is gone, that can last for years. Now, I know Artie is perfectly healthy in every other aspect, but with all the sneaking around you do he will not be able to keep up with you. Jim, I just want you to face the fact that you may have to break in another partner if this idea of yours doesn't pan out."_

"_Why Colonel, of course it'll pan out! Artie's great Aunt Maude had the same thing, and when she visited her cousin in a dry hot desert, her cough instantly vanished!"_

"_Artie's who?"_

"_Great Aunt Maude, Sir."_

"_Uh huh."_

It was nearing dusk when Jim and Artie finally made it up the last sand-burned ridge and entered the town of Paradise. The shadows were unnaturally long, with no trees to stop them, and the great big dome of the sky that stretched from horizon to craggy horizon was burning bright like liquid gold. The afternoon light that bounced off the sparse clouds was tinted crimson, and a cool evening breeze had brought neighbors out of their houses to enjoy the change in temperature. The smell of jasmine wafted towards the agents as they looked around the ramshackle town of Paradise, and it seemed to settle their nerves a little, for all day riding in the hot sun could do strange things to the temperament of both man and horse. Not wanting to delay a good meal either for themselves or their horses, Artie and Jim made straight for the hotel.

The Paradise hotel had to be the finest building around. It was three stories tall and had a ball room and balcony that overlooked the entire town. The humble stucco buildings of the town seemed to sprawl before this great monument like serfs before a king. The hotel seemed to come with not only a restaurant, but with a saloon, bowling alley, library, bath service, and even a nickelodeon! Even Jim and Artie felt a little cowed by the splendor of the building, and, noticing the contrast of the mud hovels in the town proper compared with this Goliath of a building, they eyed it suspiciously.

"Where'd you think they got the money to build something like this?" asked Artie.

"Well, now I guess we know where the money from the Silver Mine goes," answered Jim warily. For some reason, something in his gut was telling him to run. But, as there was no reason for turning back now, and, knowing that the horses needed water and Artie needed rest, Jim shook off the feeling.

The manager of the hotel was a petite and rickety old miner, with a perfect smile and a laugh that rumbled in his gut like thunder. "Well I'll be," he said in a surprisingly high voice as Jim and Artie stepped through the door. "Two dandies, just wantin a room I'd bet! What'll I do you for?"

Artie grinned. "We'd like a room and a few days board for our…" At that, Artie dissolved into a fit of hacking.

The old timer widened his eyes. "He aint sick, is he?" asked the man nervously.

Jim grinned graciously as Artie doubled over to catch his breath. "Ah, no, he's always like that. We'd like room and board for both us and our horses for about three days."

"Ah," the miner grinned. "Welcome to Paradise Hotel! You can have your pick of the rooms; since the mine shut down, we aint had anyone new come in. Peoples in this town is always so sad, seein this great hotel empty all the time. Why, it once was the center of the high desert!"

Then, the miner beckoned them to follow him up to their room. Jim grinned at the old man and gave Artie an arm to help him up the stairs. "You know," Jim stated as they followed the man, "We were real surprised to see what a big hotel this is! Did this hotel get built by the silver mining company?"

The old timer began to chuckle. "Oh, bless you, no! No, and this silver mine bein privately owned and what! No, sonny, the whole town of Paradise was already here as a stopping point for ranch hands on their way back from cattle drives. One day, a Mr. Clemmons came into town. He was a rich man back east; made his livin on a tabacca plantation. He, a widower then, came in for his health with his family of five. Smart kids, all of them, and still very prominent in this town. Well, Mr. Clemmons married a lady of style, who set out to run the saloon in town. She was havin money problems, and so Mr. Clemmons decided to mine around the area, for even though he was rich all his money was bein used up plum fast. He then found a silver vein pure as the silver lining on a cloud! Well, he got to work about owning the property and pretty soon owned the town. He and his sons, and some of the townspeople mined that vein, and in their prosperity they built this huge hotel so's to bring in more business to the town. But then, just after the hotel was built, Mrs. Clemmons got sick and died. Right after that, Mr. Clemons's mine ran out. With no silver, the mine just became an empty hole and the town empty with it. Mr. Clemmons died not too long ago, leavin his sons his last instructions on what to do with his property. He effectively stranded his family too, all the kids have are each other!

They had reached the room finally, and Artie threw himself on the bed, still gasping for air. Jim turned to the man and smiled, trying to ease the tension he felt from the man every time he looked at Artie. "_Yeah_," Jim thought, "_I'm worried too._" Out loud, Jim asked, "So, the kids still live here?"

The old miner grinned. "Sure as shootin they do! Sampson, the oldest and meanest, is thirty-five, followed by Lars and Olav, who are twins and both thirty. Ivy is the next sibling, a daughter of twenty-eight and last but certainly the jewel of the family is Cassandra, whose age… well, let's jest say she's over sweet sixteen. But young and spry, pretty as they come, and smart about town history, which might make you happy, seein as how you're inclined to ask questions." The miner leaned closer to Jim and gave him a wink. "She dances at night in the saloon, iffn you're interested." Then, the miner straightened and turned towards the door. "I'll see to your horses, gentlemen. After all, you look plum tuckered out!"

Artie watched the man close their door and took a deep, shaky breath. "Did he seem a little odd to you, James?" Artie asked. Jim shrugged. "A little talkative, but then, who wouldn't be in a town this small?"

Dinner in the hotel restaurant was very good, despite what the cook had promised, for the matronly old lady hadn't received her order of fresh supplies, and she basically had beans, rice, and jerky to work with. She did wonders with these ingredients, however, and Jim and Artie soon found themselves comfortably full. Artie felt a little bit better, if embarrassed. He couldn't understand this cough; one moment he was feeling fine, the next moment he was hacking and gasping for air. He was tired of breathing sometimes, and even more tired of being sick. "Confound it all!" he thought irritably as the cook brought out dessert. But, being his suave and usual self, he just smiled and thanked her kindly. After all, it wasn't _her_ fault he was sick.

Jim, on the other hand, was eying the saloon with a smile on his lips. A chain of thoughts leading up to meeting the delightful Miss Clemmons was running through his brain, and his plans for the evening basically led up to drinking at the bar and hoping he'd get her to look his way. Jim winced as Artie choked and sputtered over his dessert. Now, if Jim wanted to impress this fair damsel, he needed to do it on his own, and he couldn't concentrate on being impressive if he had to look after Artie the whole time. He chewed his lip as he pondered how to tell Artie he wanted to be on his own this evening without also hurting his friend's feelings.

The only problem with being friends as long as Jim and Artie had been was that they could read each other like a book in seconds. Artie took one look at Jim and _knew_ what was going on in his friend's mind. Artie sighed quietly, frustrated that he couldn't be a better rabble rouser at the moment, and, to save Jim the awkward question, he stated, "Well James my boy, I think I better turn in. I'm really tired after that ride, and so if you have anything you want to do, just go ahead."

Jim glanced over at Artie, but Artie just gave him that perfect grin which hid his feelings so perfectly well. "Darn, but you're a good actor," thought Jim. However, not wishing to hurt his friend further, Jim just smiled and said jovially, "Well, I'll scope out the town for you. Who knows, tomorrow we might both have dates for the evening!"

Artie smiled. "I'd like that," he stated. Then, both men proceeded to get up, one heading purposefully for the saloon and the other heading grumbling and wheezing to bed.

When Artie entered their room he felt a strange feeling, like one of impending doom. Well, not quite that bad, but he had the feeling that something was off, or that he had missed something. Uneasily, he began undressing for bed. But once he got his jacket, tie and vest off, the nagging feeling began to grow. "Better stay dressed and keep your boots on," his mind told him. "Something bad is going to happen, and it's best to be prepared."

Artie scowled, and moved to take his gun belt off. But then he froze, thinking vague thoughts of all the times they had been in trouble, and sighing, he re-buckled the belt. In the end, Artie made a compromise. He remained dressed and armed, but he took his boots off. If only he had kept them on…

Jim, on the other hand, had no thoughts whatsoever at all of impending doom. No, he was enjoying himself to the extreme. The saloon was packed as usual, and the piano player was playing "Camp-town Ladies." A few girls were on stage dancing festooned in feathers, but prettiest of all was Miss Cassandra Clemmons. Jim picked her out right away. She had a pleasant face with a nose that looked like it was sculpted by an artist. Her skin was white as marble, and her wheat colored hair flowed down her back like waves. Her eyes were cool and gray-blue, and she had a smile that lit up the room like a thousand candles would. As soon as her dance number was over (and boy could she dance with those beautiful long legs), she sauntered over to the bar and asked for a drink. Jim took this opportunity to make his move. He offered to pay for her drink. The bartender, who was also old and graying, just sighed and gave Jim a strange, unreadable look. Before Jim could ask what his problem was though, the bartender had turned away again.

"Well, I sure do thank you kindly," smiled Cassandra. "You know something, you cowboy folks are sure a decent bunch of folks."

Jim smiled and tipped his hat. "Not a cowboy, mam, I'm just taking a tour of your desert."

Cassandra smiled a flirty smile. "Call me Cassandra, please. You know, it's nice to see young men here again. After the silver mine died out, the only folks who were left here were family men and old geysers. Even the cowboys don't come through like they used to."

Jim grinned. "Why is that, Cassandra?"

Cassandra's smile grew deeper and more mysterious. "Cause they're afraid to come back, see? Old miners can be quite frightening when those cowpokes come into town. We've got no sheriff, so the miners have to keep the order."

"I see," Jim replied. He _had_ begun to notice the lack of young people of any sort; the women all seemed married and on their second or third child. There were only three saloon girls, not counting Cassandra. The rest of the people were as old as dirt.

"Well, honey," Cassandra's voice broke Jim's brief reverie, "what's your name?"

Jim smiled. "James West. My friend and I are just traveling through, and I heard about your mine. We thought we'd like to visit; you see, I am very interested in mining."

Cassandra's face fell. "Is your friend a lady friend?"

Jim blinked. He wasn't used to his cover story being so blatantly…ignored. "No," he replied with a small chuckle. "My friend is named Artemus Gordon. He's a traveling actor and is like a brother to me."

Cassandra visibly relaxed, her manner becoming playful again. "Oh, I see! Say, isn't it swell, two young men! My sister can have him as a date tomorrow!"

Jim shook his head, amused. _"Go for the two-pointer," his brain said. "Compliment both her and her sister." _"You have a sister?" he grinned slyly. "If beauty runs in your family, she's got to be as good-looking as you are."

Cassandra blushed a deep, becoming rose. "Why, Mister West, you are a charmer!"

Jim smiled. "Call me Jim."

Cassandra also smiled slyly. "Well then, Jim, what do you think of families?"

Jim knew when he was being tested. "Well, as long as there are pretty girls in them, I'd say that families are priceless."

"So, I guess you'd be one who just wants daughters then?"

"No, sons are okay too, as long as they can fight like men."

Cassandra laughed, obviously pleased with something. Jim smiled too, pushing the nagging thought that this carefree female laughed too much out of his mind. After all, she was the prettiest girl in town, even if she was a bit shallow. Slowly, the room seemed to dim, and Jim found himself leaning in to kiss her. Cassandra also leaned in and met his lips with a passionate kiss of her own.

The bar seemed to go still. Jim opened his eyes, surprised at the strength of the kiss. Cassandra moved back from him then, her eyes shining in excitement. "See fellas!" she called out to the bar, "I told you he'd come someday!" Then, without another word, Cassandra ran like a scared rabbit upstairs. A man stood on the stairwell, glaring at Jim with pure hatred in his eyes.

The bar exploded, people jumping up to run. Jim looked around from person to person, bewildered. He had no idea what just happened, but he had a feeling it wasn't good. Suddenly, out from the pressing crowd of exiting bar-goers squeezed in a tall young woman. She too was very pretty, but her frame seemed to emanate strength, and her dark blonde hair was pulled back from her face into a worker's bun. She wasn't necessarily fat, but she wasn't an ethereal twig like Cassandra was either. Her dark blue eyes burned with authority, and with a quick sweeping motion she shooed Jim back into the restaurant and closed the bar doors.

"What on Earth got them so riled up?" Jim asked as the door to the street kept slamming. The woman looked up at Jim, her pretty face contorted in worry. Still, Jim could see the resemblance. "You are Ivy Clemmons, aren't you?"

Ivy nodded and wrung her hands before her. "Do you have any idea what you just did?" she cried out as Jim stood there, stunned.

Jim swallowed, and, as she remained silent, ventured a couple of words. "No… I just kissed a girl. What, is kissing not allowed in this town?"

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Not to that girl," she began. But before she could continue, a gunshot burst through the window of the hotel. Ivy growled in annoyance, as if a pesky fly had landed through the window and not some death-dealing weapon. "Get your stuff," she said, shooing Jim towards the hotel door. "I'll explain when you're safe."

"ARTIE! WAKE UP!" Artie jumped up practically to the ceiling, and consequently fell to the floor. The hard ground pounded his lungs, which led to a coughing fit unlike any he had had that day. Through bleary, still asleep eyes he saw Jim hurriedly throwing things into their bags. "Hurry hurry, HURRY!" a woman was shouting. The entire scene would have been comical, if it were not being viewed through black spots.

"Here!" Suddenly, Artie felt a rather strong hand pulling him up. He blinked as his vision cleared, and he saw a young woman, who was strong and pretty and had curves in all the right places. "Where have you been all my life?" he smiled.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Another one? You idiots, didn't you realize what you were doing by coming here?"

Artie blinked in confusion and looked at Jim. "What did you do tonight?" he queried accusingly.

Jim scowled. "Nothing! Now come on, get your boots on, we have to run." Suddenly, a bullet splintered the door. "Never mind the boots, climb out the window!" cried the woman. Jim raced to the window and flung a cable out of his jacket. Artie heard the sound of people running up the stairs and winced; it sounded like thunder. Jim finished hooking the cable to the window and shouted, "Let's go, ladies first!" The woman didn't even hesitate, she just leapt out the window with the cable and lowered herself to the ground.

"At least we know this is a normal occurrence," Artie observed as the woman dropped the last couple of feet. "She acts like she has done this thousands of times."

Jim scowled. "You next, Artie."

Artie growled. "Wait, I need my boots!"

Suddenly, the door to their hotel room was blown off its hinges.

"Never mind," Artie yelped as he and Jim both grabbed the cable and swung out.

Fortunately, Jim and Artie were able to lower themselves halfway to the ground before the cable broke. It was meant to hold two hundred pounds at a time, but with the overload they were lucky it lasted as long as it did. Leaping onto their feet, both agents grabbed an arm of the girl and ran towards the sagebrush, the sound of shouts behind them.

"Quick!" shouted the woman, breaking free. "Down into the wash!"

Once in the wash, Artie had a chance to catch a breather. His lungs had handled well during their flight, but were now seizing on him. He dissolved into a fit of coughing likely to rival that of a dying cat hacking up a hairball, and the woman winced as she watched him. "Are you okay?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, he's fine," Jim replied. "He does this all the time."

"Hi!" Artie said between gasps. "Pleasure… to… meet you. I'm… Artemus Gordon."

The woman smiled. "I'm Ivy Clemmons."

"Nice to meet you." The two shook hands.

Jim rolled his eyes. "As much as I hate to break up this little meeting, I must remind you that we are being chased by a posse with guns and, apparently, several sets of explosives! Now, I don't look too kindly on that…"

Ivy sighed. "Please, Mr. West, just follow me. I'll explain everything to you when we are safe."

Safe was a matter of opinion. A rickety, dusty old mine shaft didn't seem very safe, especially when Artie's racking cough threatened to bring the entire structure down on them. Luckily, the moon hadn't risen yet; the famous desert moon that bathed the desert in light almost as bright as day and made it extremely easy to track down criminals at night. Running up the wash had left footprints in the sand, but Ivy knew what she was doing; the wind smoothed out their tracks behind them. And now that they were in the mine, they wouldn't be caught in the brilliant glow that made everything look washed out. Jim looked at their surroundings with unease.

"Don't you think they will think of searching the shafts?" asked Jim.

Ivy shook her head as she lit a small dark lantern. "Mr. West, there are over two dozen shafts on this mountain. They couldn't possibly search them all through tonight, and this one isn't very well known. Not that it matters anyhow, you are as good as dead. But please, before you go doing anything rash, it's best that you hear the entire story first. Then, you may know how to proceed."

Artie grinned, still trying to look charming as he dug some cholla out of his foot left over from their wild run to the wash. "Well," he said grimacing slightly as he tugged at the cactus spines. "We're all ears. It's not like I can go anywhere right now, anyway." Jim glanced over at Artie, and then nodded for her to begin.

Ivy sighed deeply. "No doubt," she began, "you have been told of how my family came to California. What is not commonly known is that my father was a slave owner. He owned a great deal of wealth, but when the Civil War broke out, he packed us all up and left our plantation. We stayed some time with a family member down south, waiting to see if it would blow over. When it became clear that the Union meant business, father freed his slaves, took his all of his money, and left for good. We traveled west, hoping to find a new start. We were young then, and our mother very delicate. She didn't make it.

We traveled for years, never staying long in one place. You see, our father only really knew how to do one thing in his life, and that was manage people. There isn't much call for that out west. Well, finally our money began to dwindle, and so we settled in this place. Back then, this was a hotspot for cowboys. Father built this giant hotel, hoping to fill it with cowboys each season. He sunk every last penny into it. For a couple of seasons, it did well, but then the railroad built a closer station to the ranches and no one needed this dusty old town again. People started to leave.

About this time, by pure luck, Father found the silver. He hired a ton of miners to dig, too many, and the silver in the mine just wasn't enough to pay for their salaries and for us to make a profit off of. It didn't help that our stepmother was about as spendthrift as an heiress in a jewelry store. By the time she and my Father died, all me and my siblings had was this hotel, and the people who chose to stay with us helped us run it. Mostly, they are old miners that are too old to travel and poor families who have no prospects anywhere else.

But then Mr. Sabatini, a Don in his day, and an amazingly kind Californio, offered our family a deal. He would buy the hotel from us and pay everyone in our town some money so that they could start over again. In turn, my sister Cassandra would marry his son, Diego.

My sister agreed with this arrangement with joy, as she loves Diego. But he first had to finish his college back east. Then finally, we received word that he had finished! He has been traveling back from college ever since, and was due any day. But then I noticed a change come over Cassandra. She is a romantic at heart, and hopes for Diego to win her the traditional way; in a duel. Therefore, any young man that sets foot in town she tries to claim, in order to make Diego fight for her. We usually run off any young man, but since it was getting dark when you entered we determined to let you stay."

"Let us stay!" Jim broke in with a scowl. "That old timer behind the desk practically threw me at your sister… he mentioned her by name! And he never even blinked when we told him we were staying for three days."

Ivy paled. "Mr. West," she said nervously. "There is no old miner that runs the front desk. Cassandra runs it during the day!"

Suddenly, Artie began to howl with laughter that turned abruptly into spasms of coughing. It didn't wipe the grin off his face, though. "That's what was so strange about that old miner!" he laughed. "It was a girl all along!"

Ivy looked down, her face very mortified. "Well, you see Mr. West, being out here so long has kind of made my sister go a little crazy, and, well, to amuse herself she sometimes dresses up as another person. We indulged her in it because there was nothing else to do and she had so much fun. I know it sounds very strange to you, and perhaps even a little crazy; obviously normal people do not run around changing their appearance every day.

At this Artie was laughing so hard he could no longer breathe, and as he struggled to get his air back Jim glared at him, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You'd be surprised at how common a hobby it is," he said to Ivy. Then, moving over he yanked Artie over into a sitting position and raised his arms above his head. "Just like the doctor said," he admonished. "It opens your airways."

"Yes yes mother hen," Artie growled, but he was too focused on breathing to care about what was going on anymore. Jim looked at Ivy and scowled in worry. "What next?" he asked.

Ivy sighed. "It may not be all that bad. I was busy this evening; you see, Diego had just gotten back. No doubt Cassandra ran up to him and told him of your forwardness."

"Forwardness! She kissed me!"

"I was there, you leaned in first."

"Serves you right," Artie wheezed.

"Anyway, Mr. West, Diego would have gathered up her brothers, and now the four of them will be pursuing you until you are dead. It will not do for you just to leave; Diego will have no honor in that."

"What! You mean I just can't leave and have it be done with?"

"Mr. West, you're in California now. It's shoot first and ask questions later. And as long as Diego can hunt you, he will do it. He will block off the road, and will not let anyone leave before he has your blood. However, I may have an idea of how to help you. It's risky though."

Jim looked at Artie gravely. Artie coughed and put his arms down. "Well, we can't live the rest of our lives in a hole, can we?" Artie commented. Jim shook his head. "Tell us the plan," he said.

Jim looked out from the mine shaft, feeling trapped like a cornered animal. He didn't like waiting for a day while Ivy Clemmons put their plan into effect. Everything hinged on her, and Jim didn't like it. He wasn't so sure about the plan, either.

Ivy's idea was to have Jim and Artie essentially "kidnap" her. Ivy had gone to get the bags they left at the hotel , and was to bring them their horses and all their sparse luggage. Then, she was to go back to the hotel and wait in front of it. Artie and Jim were then to come tearing through town, pick her up, and effectively shout out that anyone who tried to follow them would pay for their mistake with her life. They would drop her off about a mile from town, ride to the train, and take off like there was no tomorrow. Jim admired the selflessness of the woman, and Artie admired her ingenuity. In fact, Jim noticed with amusement, Artie seemed to admire a lot about that woman. The plan had just one sticky part, however. Ivy would have to get both Blackjack and Mesa out of the stable, through the desert, and into the mine without being seen by anyone.

"No one will cross Diego," she stated. "He has a temper to match the fiery land where his bloodline came from. So, if the miners see anything suspicious, they will inform him. I plan to come for your horses around noon; surely most people will be inside then, for temperatures outside can reach one hundred and six degrees!"

As it goes with most plans, though, they often go amiss. This one was no different. Diego not only had Cassandra's three brothers searching for Jim, but had involved the entire town in the manhunt. Therefore, though there was no one in town to witness Ivy steal the horses, there would be no one in town to witness the agents stealing her. Jim and Artie puzzled over their dilemma as they sorted through their gear in the various bags Ivy had brought them along with their horses. Ivy stood by silently, looking embarrassed that she could do no more.

"You know James," Artie began as he coughed and pulled on what was left of his boots. "If we could just get to the train, we could use that death serum on you. With a little bit of stage makeup, I could make it look like you were shot. If we could somehow lure them to the train and then convince Diego that he shot you, we wouldn't have to worry about the rest of our time here… but then, that wouldn't work."

"Why, Artie?" asked Jim intrigued.

"Well, for starters we'd need more time to apply your makeup. We couldn't have Diego "shoot you" and then you lure him back; you'd have to already have taken the serum and look dead when he arrives. There would only be a leeway of ten minutes at the most, and that is definitely not enough time."

Ivy stepped forward. "Then let me be the decoy. I can ride Mr. West's horse, while you go back to the train with him and prepare his makeup."

"NO!" Artie and Jim exclaimed at the same time. "Definitely not," Artie wheezed. "They'd be shooting at you, and what would happen if you got hit!"

Ivy scowled. "Well, I want to help. You can't just rope me into this and then shut me out! Besides, you said it yourself, you can't do this without a third person to act as the decoy."

Suddenly, Artie's eyes lit up with an idea. "Jim, do you know how to give yourself the serum?"

"Yes," said Jim warily.

Artie looked at Ivy. "How good of a makeup artist are you?"

Ivy smiled as she understood where this was going. "I can do alright," she replied.

Artie grinned as he looked at Jim. "I think a change of wardrobe is in order."

It was nearing dusk. Diego and his weary search parties began straggling back towards the mines and towards the town, though Diego had assigned a miner to take up permanent residence at the canyon pass. Diego knew that the two men couldn't get far on foot, so there was no point wearying himself or his men to the bone. Honor could wait until tomorrow. Then, suddenly, the events of the evening drastically changed. For as Diego went to go stable his horse, he realized that the two men he was hunting had escaped with theirs. Turning his horse around, Diego rallied his tired men and headed them straight back out into the desert.

Artie stood by Blackjack, shuffling uncomfortably in the tight green jacket. There would be no way Artie could ever fit into Jim's pants, but Jim's black chaps covered most of Artie's brown pants anyway. The green jacket, ever so tight, covered his regular shirt (the agents mostly swapped horses, jackets, and hats). Jim and Ivy had gone ahead sometime earlier riding Mesa. Now, as dusk was approaching, Artie was to set out. It was a long ride to the train, but if their Plan B worked out, Jim would arrive with about an hour's leeway time, just enough to get him presentably dead. Artie would follow on Jim's horse and in his clothes, so that the people hunting him would believe he was Jim and would shoot at him instead. He planned to let one bullet "hit him," and would ride off clutching his chest and shouting. However, he was very nervous about riding Blackjack.

For the most part, the spirited ebony horse never allowed anyone else to ride him unless Jim was present. Even now, the horse was giving Artie the wild eye. Artie growled in irritation as his apprehension gnawed at him; he wasn't the best of riders. Oh well, he only had to get through it for one evening. "Blackjack," Artie began, "you know that I'm not Jim, that I can't ride like Jim and don't have spirit enough for a crazy horse like you. But we are doing something to pull Jim out of a mess he got himself into, and if you cooperate I won't have to ride you again. Got it?" The horse nickered softly, but its eyes were still a little white around the edges. Artie gulped, steeled himself, and flung himself up into the saddle. It was now or never.

To the horse's credit, he didn't try to buck Artie off even once. However, he didn't really have much of a chance because, five minutes into their ride, they were spotted by a posse member and they had to make a run for it. "It's too early," Artie fretted as he heard the pursuers gaining ground. "At this rate, they'll either catch us or we'll be too early and Jim won't be ready!" Artie was determined not to get caught in any case, though, and Blackjack, being a first hand horse, stepped up to the occasion. He put on an unexpected burst of speed that made Artie wonder if Jim ever felt like he was flying while riding. The people behind him fell further and further behind.

That was not to last forever, though. As night fell, it became exceedingly hard for Artie to tell where he should steer Blackjack. The white moon made everything different; every tree, bush, and boulder was the same color with the same shading, and so it was hard to see what to jump over and what to go around. Artie knew that as soon as he hit the road he'd be able to let Blackjack run full out, but for now they continued stumbling around in the darkness.

The miners of the town knew where the road was, however, and they blocked it off. Their tired horses could not pursue "James West" anymore, but they situated themselves between the last canyon pass and the railroad tracks. As they were all intent on watching the road leading up to the town, no one noticed the small train that was parked just on the other side of the canyon. Which was fortunate, for at the moment they blocked off the pass, two riders silently slipped off their horse and entered the train.

"They got the pass blocked off!" Ivy fretted as she pulled out all kinds of stage makeup. "What'll Artemus do?"

"Don't worry about him," Jim replied as he prepared the serum. He was worried himself. "He's very good at getting past people. He does it all the time."

"What do you mean, he does it all the time! Are you fellas bandits?"

"Um, no, not exactly. We are secret service agents."

"Oh. Earlier this week, I may have found that strange."

Jim rolled his eyes good naturedly and pulled off Artie's fringed jacket and hat. He went over to the wall, pulled out a hose-like object, and fired off some quick orders to the engineer. He then lay down on the settee, undoing his vest haphazardly and sprawling out, in order to look like he had just fallen down and died. Ivy had found a bag of stage blood, and, shaking her head at the general absurdity of it all, she unceremoniously dumped it out on Jim's chest.

"Watch it! Not too much!" Jim cautioned. "After all, we want this to be believable!"

"Well, I'm sorry! I've never killed anyone before."

"That's a good thing."

Ivy smeared the fake blood over Jim's hand, and then went about the train smearing door handles. "Do the riders know which horse was yours?" she asked.

Jim thought back to when they came riding into town. "Yes, I think so," he affirmed. Ivy nodded. "I'll just go into the stable car then and wait. When your partner comes in, I'll dump the rest of this bag over your horse. That way, when they come to check the saddle, they'll find blood there too."

"Good idea, Ivy. Just make sure that after that you head into the engineer's quarters; I've asked our engineer Orin Cobb to look after you. You'll be safe with him, and it would do no good for our plan to be seen by anyone else."

Ivy nodded. "I understand. Well, Mr. West, you'd better take that serum now before anything else happens. If they decide to search this car before your friend arrives, you'll want to make it as convincing as possible."

Jim shook his head as he slowly injected himself. "Artie's ruse will make it convincing," he mumbled as sleep overtook him.

"Wow, that works fast," Ivy commented as she disposed of the syringe. Then, looking around and deciding that everything was to her satisfaction, she slipped into the stable car to wait.

Artie sat tall atop of Blackjack, his heart racing and his jaw clenched shut to suppress his cough. The pass was blocked! After all their careful planning, the only way to the train was cut off. Artie growled, angry at himself. If he had found the road earlier, he could have outrun the posse easily. But because he didn't know his way around, he and Blackjack had stumbled in the darkness until the canyon blocked off every possible way around. "I hate canyons," Artie growled. He did manage to catch a glimpse of the train from his vantage point, though, and saw that the lights to the parlor car were on and the stable car was open. "Good," he thought happily. "At least Jim and Ivy are safe."

Artie turned his attention to the problem at hand: how to get past the posse. He did have the element of surprise; most of the posse members were up the road a little, expecting him to ride down it. If Artie came at them from the side, he would only have to overpower a few men, not the entire town. However, one of those few men standing in the pass was Diego himself; one of the men up front had ridden back and was reporting to him. Artie fumbled around in his vest pocked and pulled out a rigged slide whistle and one of his many famous smoke bombs. The smoke bomb one was just a white one, but he figured with the light of the moon white would be the most obscure. He waited until the man reporting had gone back to the front. Then, he took a deep breath to steady himself as well as Blackjack, said a quick prayer that this would work, and flung the slide whistle as far as he could throw.

From the other side of the road came a sharp whistle. Two men left the pass to investigate. That just left Diego directly in the pass. Quickly, Artie lit the bomb and threw it at Diego. Diego's horse shied, and while Diego was calming it down, Artie flashed by on Blackjack. "Tarnation!" Diego cried. "He's getting away, men!"

Artie may have had a few seconds of a head start, but Diego was bound and determined to catch him. Not only that, but now bullets were raining down upon them. "Fly, Blackjack, fly!" cried Artie between coughs, and the horse, finally having a flat road to run on, put on such speed that it made a racehorse look slow. Within minutes, they were nearing the stable car. Just then, Artie felt like three hot knives had just ripped through his skin simultaneously. He remembered that he was supposed to dramatically slump over, and so he did the last couple of feet while Blackjack charged up the ramp. When they were out of sight, Artie deftly leaped off and was greeted with a splash of blood by Ivy. They had no time to spare for hellos; Ivy ran into the engineering car, and Artie struggled through the laboratory car into the parlor car. He threw off Jim's hat, yanked off Jim's jacket, grabbed a candle off the table, and burned a small hole into the chest of the jacket. Then, Artie managed to shove the unconscious Jim into his own jacket. Artie took a moment to cough ferociously, and noticed that the three hot knives feeling must have been him getting shot in the arms, for he had three deep gashes that were bleeding profusely; one on the right arm and two on the left. They had just been bullets that had grazed though, Artie knew it would hurt much worse if the bullets were still in there. Quickly, hearing the horses riding up outside, Artie leaned over and smeared some of his own blood on Jim's coat, right where the "bullet hole" was situated. He then yanked on his own jacket and knelt down by Jim's side, as if he were mourning for the death of his friend. Coughs shook him violently, and he used them to his advantage, crying out in between them. Orrin and Ivy, breathlessly hiding in the darkness of the engine, heard them and chills went up their spines. "That's my Gordon!" Orrin whispered softly, and Ivy smiled in spite of herself.

Diego entered the parlor car and was greeted with a very satisfying scene. James West, the hated man who had tried to steal his darling from him, was lying on the couch wounded. No, not only wounded, dead. The face that Diego had memorized in a moment while he had been standing atop the stairwell in the bar was cold and pale, relaxed in a way only death could bring about. Blood was everywhere, and the burned hole in the green jacket gave him a sense of satisfaction nothing else could bring about. "Just try to let anyone ever get to my beloved," he thought happily. But most convincing of all were the racking, convulsing sobs by West's friend. Men seldom ever cry, and the death of a comrade was the one instance that Diego had ever seen a reaction like he was seeing now.

"You killed him!" Artie howled, his voice raspy from excessive coughing. "Why, WHY!"

Diego shrugged uncomfortably. "It must be that way, amigo. I had to win the love of my lady, my heart's desire. Perhaps one day, this man and I may have met on the battle field and have been friends. But you must understand, all is fair in love and war. And many times, love is a war."

Artie lowered his head and continued his "sobs" (which were actually suppressed coughs). "Leave now," Artie choked out, "before I decide to avenge my brother!"

Diego nodded and left after an awkward pause of silence, the floor creaking under him as he walked out the door. There was no cheering, no laughing. Diego and his band of miners just rode away wearily and silently. And, when Artie could no longer hear their hooves, he collapsed coughing into an exaggerated sprawl on the floor.

There wasn't much left to do that evening. Ivy bound up Artie's wounds and helped him clean up all the fake (and real) blood from around the room. They revived Jim, who spent the rest of his evening trying to shake off the effects of the serum while still trying to look suave and sophisticated for Ivy. He needn't have bothered, though, for Ivy only had her eyes on one man in the room; the ever coughing Artemus Gordon.

Two weeks later, the train was once again passing through the low desert on the way back east. Artie's cough had improved greatly, for he and Jim spent the rest of their two weeks holed up in a mountain cabin far away from any place they could get in trouble. The air there had been good and clean (and blessedly dry), and Artie's lungs were finally on the way to recovery when it was time for them to leave. Richmond had been glad to hear that, and was awaiting a full report of their vacation activities over a dinner in New Orleans. Jim and Artie had both agreed that the events of those few days in Paradise should be left out of their report; they had been on vacation, after all, and so a full report was neither expected nor required. Yet, Jim had resolved to keep silent out of deference to his pride, and Artie, except for the occasional snicker, kept silent for the sake of his friend. Their last night in California, they stopped for the evening in the low desert town of Palm Canyon. Jim had shut all the blinds and had resolved to settle in for the night with a book, because they were very close to the canyon where Diego had pursued them so intently. He was therefore very surprised when Artemus Gordon came out of his room dressed to the hilt!

"And just where are you going?" Jim exclaimed.

Artie grinned slyly. "Oh, on a date."

Jim felt put out. "And you didn't invite me? Artie, I'd dig you up a girl the least you could have done was dig me up one!"

Artie felt the sweetness of revenge. "As I remember it, the offer didn't stand for me when I was coughing my head off."

Jim scowled. "Well, you were dying then. I though it'd be best for you to have your rest."

Artie rolled his eyes. "Don't you start exaggerating now, I know what you were thinking. You weren't thinking about my health, you were thinking 'Yay, there is no more competition.'"

Jim sighed. "Well, at least she could have a sister I could have met."

Artie couldn't stand it any longer. "You did meet her sister," he replied.

Jim's eyes went wide. "Oh, Artie, no! Not again!"

At that moment, there was a knock on the door to the parlor car. A beautiful, young woman stood there, a smile on her friendly face. She was dressed in a dark blue gown that fit her very well, but it was the glow in her eyes that made her even more beautiful than her sister.

"Good evening, Mr. West," Ivy smiled courteously. Then, she held out her hand to Artemus. "Let's go, Artemus."

Artie smiled as he took Ivy's arm. "See you later, James. Have a good evening at home!"


End file.

Wild Wild West, Humor